The RedEye
by BadMomma
Summary: Ficlet/Snog: Hilde's shuttle ride to the Mars colony gets interesting. Not who you might think. **HET**


Title: The Red-eye 

Author: BadMomma

Word Count: 787

Pairing: Trowa/Hilde

Warnings: Light lime

"Here you go, Miss, gin & tonic, easy on the gin. Start a tab?"

"Thanks, yes please." I smile and hand over my charge card.  I'll be here a while.

There's only one good thing about Red-eyes; Priority Class is almost always empty so the bar is opened to the Coach customers.  This ten-hour flight would otherwise be unbearable for someone who can't sleep on public shuttles.  Old habits die hard and soldier's instincts make it difficult for me to rest in an enclosed environment, surrounded by people I don't know.

I sip my drink lethargically.  No point in hurrying, I'm not going anywhere.  I peruse the material in my portfolio.  Gotta kill time somehow.

A figure appears at the bar.  "Two vodka-tonics please."

"Right away sir."

The voice sounds familiar but I can't place it, I spare him a glance.  He catches me looking and returns my smile.  He looks familiar but I must be damned tired not to remember a hottie like him.  Civility appeased, I turn back to my paperwork.  But his eyes do not stray.  

"Hilde right?  Schre…" 

"Schveiker." I supply. "And you are?"

"Trowa Barton." He offers a hand and another smile. When it's obvious I don't remember, "Duo's friend… from the wars?"

Images flash at me as I take the offered hand.  Duo. L2. Circus. Clown. Shoulders. Chest. Eyes. Black flight suit. Loooong legs.  "Trowa!"  Now I remember!  Drooling under the Bigtop, hot sweaty dreams for nights after, watching for a glimpse of that tusch on Peacemillion.

"Business trip?"  I nod, wondering… "The suit and portfolio gave you away.  It's a good look on you."  

The once-over he gives me almost makes me blush.  Hey, I'm a girl in a business teaming with men; men who like to see some leg.  If it'll help me score a contract, so be it.  

I cross my legs and smile.  "Thanks, you look great yourself."  Maybe this trip won't be so boring after all. 

"I've got a booth, wanna join me?" His voice has dropped a level and he casually inches closer.  His eyes stray to my swinging leg.  I think he's interested.

"Your drinks, sir."

"Thanks." He drops a 20cred note. "Keep the change."

Two drinks.  He's not alone.  "Thanks but… wouldn't want to intrude. Maybe next time?"

"Intrude? On an intimate meeting of man and machine?" I'd swear his voice just dropped even lower. "I was writing reports…" he grins "out of boredom. But if I can spend time with a beautiful and intelligent woman;" he shrugs "well, I'd be a fool to pass up the opportunity."

I uncross my legs and slide to the edge of my seat. "Then I'd be delighted, but why two drinks?"  

He turns to the bartender, "Another of what the lady's having, please." He slaps a 10cred on the bar.  "Why make two trips? It's a waste of time… especially now that I'll have company."

He surprises me by sitting next to, rather than across, from me where his computer is situated.  Once comfortably seated we pass the time exchanging stories about our mutual acquaintances. Our strongest connection being Duo, the stories are mostly about him. 

One particularly funny anecdote has him choking and slobbering his drink. We both reach for napkins and begin to wipe away the mess on his face, neck and shirt.  As I ineffectively try to dry his shirt he stills my hand.

"So you haven't seen him in years?" He practically whispers.

I lean forward, concentrating on the feel of his hand on mine, his solid chest under the shirt.  "No.  Not since just after the Barton thing.  He packed his things to go look for Heero as soon as he disappeared.  I've only heard from him twice." I stare at the pulsing of his throat.

The arm that he'd rested on the back of the booth comes down over my shoulders, pulling me closer.  "So you and he weren't…?"

"No.  Never." I can feel the heat of his breath on my face.

"Good."

"Good?" I look up, caught in an emerald fire.

"He won't be mad if I do this."  His lips descend over mine as he pulls me closer.  A hand runs up my thigh.  My mouth opens to his caressing tongue.  I'm in his lap when we break for air.

"How long will you be on Mars?" Our mouths meet again; searching, plundering.

"Two weeks.  Three at most.  Then back to L2.  Why?"  It's hard to think with his hands on my body, his mouth at my throat.

"I'd like a chance to convince you to change your schedule. Permanently."

For hours after that, it is hard to breath.

Maybe there are other advantages to taking the red-eye.

~ owari ~

QUICK NOTE:  This was submitted, and accepted (#91 - Woohoo!) at '101 Ways to Snog en route to a Colony'.  Go here: www.happyfangirl.org/snogs to see the rest of them.


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